Chapter XIX
The Proposals of Bastin and Bickley
So far as my body was concerned I grew well with great
rapidity, though it was long before I got back my strength. Thus
I could not walk far or endure any sustained exertion. With my
mind it was otherwise. I can not explain what had happened to it;
indeed I do not know, but in a sense it seemed to have become
detached and to have assumed a kind of personality of its own. At
times it felt as though it were no longer an inhabitant of the
body, but rather its more or less independent partner. I was
perfectly clear-headed and of insanity I experienced no symptoms.
Yet my mind, I use that term from lack of a better, was not
entirely under my control. For one thing, at night it appeared to
wander far away, though whither it went and what it saw there I
could never remember.
I record this because possibly it explains certain mysterious
events, if they were events and not dreams, which shortly I must
set out. I spoke to Bickley about the matter. He put it by
lightly, saying that it was only a result of my long and most
severe illness and that I should steady down in time, especially
if we could escape from that island and its unnatural atmosphere.
Yet as he spoke he glanced at me shrewdly with his quick eyes,
and when he turned to go away I heard him mutter something to
himself about "unholy influences" and "that confounded old Oro."
The words were spoken to himself and quite beneath his breath,
and of course not meant to reach me. But one of the curious
concomitants of my state was that all my senses, and especially
my hearing, had become most abnormally acute. A whisper far away
was now to me like a loud remark made in a room.
Bickley's reflection, for I can scarcely call it more, set me
thinking. Yva had said that Oro sent me medicine which was
administered to me without Bickley's knowledge, and as she
believed, saved my life, or certainly my reason. What was in it?
I wondered. Then there was that Life-water which Yva brought and
insisted upon my drinking every day. Undoubtedly it was a
marvelous tonic and did me good. But it had other effects also.
Thus, as she said would be the case, after a course of it I
conceived the greatest dislike, which I may add has never
entirely left me, of any form of meat, also of alcohol. All I
seemed to want was this water with fruit, or such native
vegetables as there were. Bickley disapproved and made me eat
fish occasionally, but even this revolted me, and since I gained
steadily in weight, as we found out by a simple contrivance, and
remained healthy in every other way, soon he allowed me to choose
my own diet.
About this time Oro began to pay me frequent visits. He always
came at night, and what is more I knew when he was coming,
although he never gave me warning. Here I should explain that
during my illness Bastin, who was so ingenious in such matters,
had built another hut in which he and Bickley slept, of course
when they were not watching me, leaving our old bed-chamber to
myself.
Well, I would wake up and be aware that Oro was coming. Then he
appeared in a silent and mysterious way, as though he had
materialised in the room, for I never saw him pass the doorway.
In the moonlight, or the starlight, which flowed through the
entrance and the side of the hut that was only enclosed with
latticework, I perceived him seat himself upon a certain stool,
looking like a most majestic ghost with his flowing robes, long
white beard, hooked nose and hawk eyes. In the day-time he much
resembled the late General Booth whom I had often seen, except
for certain added qualities of height and classic beauty of
countenance. At night, however, he resembled no one but himself,
indeed there was something mighty and godlike in his appearance,
something that made one feel that he was not as are other men.
For a while he would sit and look at me. Then he began to speak
in a low, vibrant voice. What did he speak of? Well, many
matters. It was as though he were unburdening that hoary soul of
his because it could no longer endure the grandeur of its own
loneliness. Amongst sundry secret things, he told me of the past
history of this world of ours, and of the mighty civilisations
which for uncounted ages he and his forefathers had ruled by the
strength of their will and knowledge, of the dwindling of their
race and of the final destruction of its enemies, although I
noticed that now he no longer said that this was his work alone.
One night I asked him if he did not miss all such pomp and power.
Then suddenly he broke out, and for the first time I really
learned what ambition can be when it utterly possesses the soul
of man.
"Are you mad," he asked, "that you suppose that I, Oro, the
King of kings, can be content to dwell solitary in a great cave
with none but the shadows of the dead to serve me? Nay, I must
rule again and be even greater than before, or else I too will
die. Better to face the future, even if it means oblivion, than
to remain thus a relic of a glorious past, still living and yet
dead, like that statue of the great god Fate which you saw in the
temple of my worship."
"Bastin does not think that the future means oblivion," I
remarked.
"I know it. I have studied his faith and find it too humble for
my taste, also too new. Shall I, Oro, creep a suppliant before
any Power, and confess what Bastin is pleased to call my sins?
Nay, I who am great will be the equal of all greatness, or
nothing."
He paused a while, then went on:
"Bastin speaks of 'eternity.' Where and what then is this
eternity which if it has no end can have had no beginning? I know
the secret of the suns and their attendant worlds, and they are
no more eternal than the insect which glitters for an hour. Out
of shapeless, rushing gases they gathered to live their day, and
into gases at last they dissolve again with all they bore."
"Yes," I answered, "but they reform into new worlds."
"That have no part with the old. This world, too, will melt,
departing to whence it came, as your sacred writings say, and
what then of those who dwelt and dwell thereon? No, Man of
today, give me Time in which I rule and keep your dreams of an
Eternity that is not, and in which you must still crawl and
serve, even if it were. Yet, if I might, I confess it, I would
live on for ever, but as Master not as Slave."
On another night he began to tempt me, very subtly. "I see a
spark of greatness in you, Humphrey," he said, "and it comes into
my heart that you, too, might learn to rule. With Yva, the last
of my blood, it is otherwise. She is the child of my age and of a
race outworn; too gentle, too much all womanly. The soul that
triumphs must shine like steel in the sun, and cut if need be;
not merely be beauteous and shed perfume like a lily in the
shade. Yet she is very wise and fair," here he looked at me,
"perchance of her might come children such as were their
forefathers, who again would wield the sceptre of the dominion of
the earth."
I made no answer, wondering what he meant exactly and thinking
it wisest to be silent.
"You are of the short-lived races," he went on, "yet very much
a man, not without intelligence, and by the arts I have I can so
strengthen your frame that it will endure the shocks of time for
three such lives as yours, or perchance for more, and then--"
Again he paused and went on:
"The Daughter of kings likes you also, perhaps because you
resemble--" here he fixed me with his piercing eyes, "a certain
kinglet of base blood whom once she also liked, but whom it was
my duty to destroy. Well, I must think. I must study this world
of yours also and therein you may help me. Perhaps afterwards I
will tell you how. Now sleep."
In another moment he was gone, but notwithstanding his powerful
command, for a while I could not sleep. I understood that he was
offering Yva to me, but upon what terms? That was the question.
With her was to go great dominion over the kingdoms of the earth.
I could not help remembering that always this has been and still
is Satan's favourite bait. To me it did not particularly appeal.
I had been ambitious in my time--who is not that is worth his
salt? I could have wished to excel in something, literature or
art, or whatever it might be, and thus to ensure the memory of my
name in the world.
Of course this is a most futile desire, seeing that soon or
late every name must fade out of the world like an unfixed
photograph which is exposed to the sun. Even if it could endure,
as the old demigod, or demidevil, Oro, had pointed out, very
shortly, by comparison with Time's unmeasured vastness, the whole
solar system will also fade. So of what use is this feeble love
of fame and this vain attempt to be remembered that animates us
so strongly? Moreover, the idea of enjoying mere temporal as
opposed to intellectual power, appealed to me not at all. I am a
student of history and I know what has been the lot of kings and
the evil that, often enough, they work in their little day.
Also if I needed any further example, there was that of Oro
himself. He had outlived the greatness of his House, as a royal
family is called, and after some gigantic murder, if his own
story was to be believed, indulged in a prolonged sleep. Now he
awoke to find himself quite alone in the world, save for a
daughter with whom he did not agree or sympathise. In short, he
was but a kind of animated mummy inspired by one idea which I
felt quite sure would be disappointed, namely, to renew his
former greatness. To me he seemed as miserable a figure as one
could imagine, brooding and plotting in his illuminated cave, at
the end of an extended but misspent life.
Also I wondered what he, or rather his ego, had been doing
during all those two hundred and fifty thousand years of sleep.
Possibly if Yva's theory, as I understood it, were correct, he
had reincarnated as Attila, or Tamerlane, or Napoleon, or even as
Chaka the terrible Zulu king. At any rate there he was still in
the world, filled with the dread of death, but consumed now as
ever by his insatiable and most useless finite ambitions.
Yva, also! Her case was his, but yet how different. In all this
long night of Time she had but ripened into one of the sweetest
and most gentle women that ever the world bore. She, too, was
great in her way, it appeared in her every word and gesture, but
where was the ferocity of her father? Where his desire to reach
to splendour by treading on a blood-stained road paved with
broken human hearts? It did not exist. Her nature was different
although her body came of a long line of these power-loving
kings. Why this profound difference of the spirit? Like
everything else it was a mystery. The two were as far apart as
the Poles. Everyone must have hated Oro, from the beginning,
however much he feared him, but everyone who came in touch with
her must have loved Yva.
Here I may break into my personal narrative to say that this,
by their own confession, proved to be true of two such various
persons as Bastin and Bickley.
"The truth, which I am sure it would be wrong to hide from you,
Arbuthnot," said the former to me one day, "is that during your
long illness I fell in love, I suppose that is the right word,
with the Glittering Lady. After thinking the matter over also, I
conceived that it would be proper to tell her so if only to clear
the air and prevent future misunderstandings. As I remarked to
her on that occasion, I had hesitated long, as I was not certain
how she would fill the place of the wife of the incumbent of an
English parish."
"Mothers' Meetings, and the rest," I suggested.
"Exactly so, Arbuthnot. Also there were the views of the Bishop
to be considered, who might have objected to the introduction
into the diocese of a striking person who so recently had been a
heathen, and to one in such strong contrast to my late beloved
wife."
"I suppose you didn't consider the late Mrs. Bastin's views on
the subject of re-marriage. I remember that they were strong," I
remarked rather maliciously.
"No, I did not think it necessary, since the Scriptural
instructions on the matter are very clear, and in another world
no doubt all jealousies, even Sarah's, will be obliterated. Upon
that point my conscience was quite easy. So when I found that,
unlike her parent, the Lady Yva was much inclined to accept the
principles of the faith in which it is my privilege to instruct
her, I thought it proper to say to her that if ultimately she
made up her mind to do so--of course this was a sine qua non--I
should be much honoured, and as a man, not as a priest, it would
make me most happy if she would take me as a husband. Of course I
explained to her that I considered, under the circumstances, I
could quite lawfully perform the marriage ceremony myself with
you and Bickley as witnesses, even should Oro refuse to give her
away. Also I told her that although after her varied experiences
in the past, life at Fulcombe, if we could ever get there, might
be a little monotonous, still it would not be entirely devoid of
interest."
"You mean Christmas decorations and that sort of thing?"
"Yes, and choir treats and entertaining Deputations and
attending other Church activities."
"Well, and what did she say, Bastin?"
"Oh! she was most kind and flattering. Indeed that hour will
always remain the pleasantest of my life. I don't know how it
happened, but when it was over I felt quite delighted that she
had refused me. Indeed on second thoughts, I am not certain but
that I shall be much happier in the capacities of a brother and
teacher which she asked me to fill, than I should have been as
her husband. To tell you the truth, Arbuthnot, there are moments
when I am not sure whether I entirely understand the Lady Yva. It
was rather like proposing to one's guardian angel."
"Yes," I said, "that's about it, old fellow. 'Guardian Angel'
is not a bad name for her."
Afterwards I received the confidence of Bickley.
"Look here, Arbuthnot," he said. "I want to own up to
something. I think I ought to, because of certain things I have
observed, in order to prevent possible future misunderstandings."
"What's that?" I asked innocently.
"Only this. As you know, I have always been a confirmed
bachelor on principle. Women introduce too many complications
into life, and although it involves some sacrifice, on the whole,
I have thought it best to do without them and leave the carrying
on of the world to others."
"Well, what of it? Your views are not singular, Bickley."
"Only this. While you were ill the sweetness of that Lady Yva
and her wonderful qualities as a nurse overcame me. I went to
pieces all of a sudden. I saw in her a realisation of every ideal
I had ever entertained of perfect womanhood. So to speak, my
resolves of a lifetime melted like wax in the sun.
Notwithstanding her queer history and the marvels with which she
is mixed up, I wished to marry her. No doubt her physical
loveliness was at the bottom of it, but, however that may be,
there it was."
"She is beautiful," I commented; "though I daresay older than
she looks."
"That is a point on which I made no inquiries, and I should
advise you, when your turn comes, as no doubt it will, to follow
my example. You know, Arbuthnot," he mused, "however lovely a
woman may be, it would put one off if suddenly she announced that
she was--let us say--a hundred and fifty years old."
"Yes," I admitted, "for nobody wants to marry the contemporary
of his great-grandmother. However, she gave her age as twenty-
seven years and three moons."
"And doubtless for once did not tell the truth. But, as she
does not look more than twenty-five, I think that we may all
agree to let it stand at that, namely, twenty-seven, plus an
indefinite period of sleep. At any rate, she is a sweet and most
gracious woman, apparently in the bloom of youth, and, to cut it
short, I fell in love with her."
"Like Bastin," I said.
"Bastin!" exclaimed Bickley indignantly. "You don't mean to say
that clerical oaf presumed--well, well, after all, I suppose that
he is a man, so one mustn't be hard on him. But who could have
thought that he would run so cunning, even when he knew my
sentiments towards the lady? I hope she told him her mind."
"The point is, what did she tell you, Bickley?"
"Me? Oh, she was perfectly charming! It really was a pleasure
to be refused by her, she puts one so thoroughly at one's ease."
(Here, remembering Bastin and his story, I turned away my face to
hide a smile.) "She said--what did she say exactly? Such a lot
that it is difficult to remember. Oh! that she was not thinking
of marriage. Also, that she had not yet recovered from some
recent love affair which left her heart sore, since the time of
her sleep did not count. Also, that her father would never
consent, and that the mere idea of such a thing would excite his
animosity against all of us."
"Is that all?" I asked.
"Not quite. She added that she felt wonderfully flattered and
extremely honoured by what I had been so good as to say to her.
She hoped, however, that I should never repeat it or even allude
to the matter again, as her dearest wish was to be able to look
upon me as her most intimate friend to whom she could always come
for sympathy and counsel."
"What happened then?"
"Nothing, of course, except that I promised everything that she
wished, and mean to stick to it, too. Naturally, I was very sore
and upset, but I am getting over it, having always practised
self-control."
"I am sorry for you, old fellow."
"Are you?" he asked suspiciously. "Then perhaps you have tried
your luck, too?"
"No, Bickley."
His face fell a little at this denial, and he answered:
"Well, it would have been scarcely decent if you had, seeing
how lately you were married. But then, so was that artful Bastin.
Perhaps you will get over it--recent marriage, I mean--as he
has." He hesitated a while, then went on: "Of course you will,
old fellow; I know it, and, what is more, I seem to know that
when your turn comes you will get a different answer. If so, it
will keep her in the family as it were--and good luck to you.
Only--"
"Only what?" I asked anxiously.
"To be honest, Arbuthnot, I don't think that there will be real
good luck for any one of us over this woman--not in the ordinary
sense, I mean. The whole business is too strange and superhuman.
Is she quite a woman, and could she really marry a man as others
do?"
"It is curious that you should talk like that," I said
uneasily. "I thought that you had made up your mind that the
whole business was either illusion or trickery--I mean, the odd
side of it."
"If it is illusion, Arbuthnot, then a man cannot marry an
illusion. And if it is trickery, then he will certainly be
tricked. But, supposing that I am wrong, what then?"
"You mean, supposing things are as they seem to be?"
"Yes. In that event, Arbuthnot, I am sure that something will
occur to prevent your being united to a woman who lived thousands
of years ago. I am sorry to say it, but Fate will intervene.
Remember, it is the god of her people that I suppose she
worships, and, I may add, to which the whole world bows."
At his words a kind of chill fell upon me. I think he saw or
divined it, for after a few remarks upon some indifferent matter,
he turned and went away.
Shortly after this Yva came to sit with me. She studied me for
a while and I studied her. I had reason to do so, for I observed
that of late her dress had become much more modern, and on the
present occasion this struck me forcibly. I do not know exactly
in what the change, or changes, consisted, because I am not
skilled in such matters and can only judge of a woman's garments
by their general effect. At any rate, the gorgeous sweeping robes
were gone, and though her attire still looked foreign and
somewhat oriental, with a touch of barbaric splendour about it--
it was simpler than it had been and showed more of her figure,
which was delicate, yet gracious.
"You have changed your robes, Lady," I said. "Yes, Humphrey.
Bastin gave me pictures of those your women wear." (On further
investigation I found that this referred to an old copy of the
Queen newspaper, which, somehow or other, had been brought with
the books from the ship.) "I have tried to copy them a little,"
she added doubtfully.
"How do you do it? Where do you get the material?" I asked.
"Oh!" she answered with an airy wave of her hand, "I make it--
it is there."
"I don't understand," I said, but she only smiled radiantly,
offering no further explanation. Then, before I could pursue the
subject, she asked me suddenly:
"What has Bickley been saying to you about me?" I fenced,
answering: "I don't know. Bastin and Bickley talk of little else.
You seem to have been a great deal with them while I was ill."
"Yes, a great deal. They are the nearest to you who were so
sick. Is it not so?"
"I don't know," I answered again. "In my illness it seemed to
me that you were the nearest."
"About Bastin's words I can guess," she went on. "But I ask
again--what has Bickley been saying to you about me? Of the first
part, let it be; tell me the rest."
I intended to evade her question, but she fixed those violet,
compelling eyes upon me and I was obliged to answer.
"I believe you know as well as I do," I said; "but if you will
have it, it was that you are not as other human women are, and
that he who would treat you as such, must suffer; that was the
gist of it."
"Some might be content to suffer for such as I," she answered
with quiet sweetness. "Even Bastin and Bickley may be content to
suffer in their own little ways."
"You know that is not what I meant," I interrupted angrily, for
I felt that she was throwing reflections on me.
"No; you meant that you agreed with Bickley that I am not quite
a woman, as you know women."
I was silent, for her words were true.
Then she blazed out into one of her flashes of splendour, like
something that takes fire on an instant; like the faint and
distant star which flames into sudden glory before the watcher's
telescope.
"It is true that I am not as your women are--your poor, pale
women, the shadows of an hour with night behind them and before.
Because I am humble and patient, do you therefore suppose that I
am not great? Man from the little country across the sea, I lived
when the world was young, and gathered up the ancient wisdom of a
greater race than yours, and when the world is old I think that I
still shall live, though not in this shape or here, with all that
wisdom's essence burning in my breast, and with all beauty in my
eyes. Bickley does not believe although he worships. You only
half believe and do not worship, because memory holds you back,
and I myself do not understand. I only know though knowing so
much, still I seek roads to learning, even the humble road called
Bastin, that yet may lead my feet to the gate of an immortal
city."
"Nor do I understand how all this can be, Yva," I said feebly,
for she dazzled and overwhelmed me with her blaze of power.
"No, you do not understand. How can you, when even I cannot?
Thus for two hundred and fifty thousand years I slept, and they
went by as a lightning flash. One moment my father gave me the
draught and I laid me down, the next I awoke with you bending
over me, or so it seemed. Yet where was I through all those
centuries when for me time had ceased? Tell me, Humphrey, did you
dream at all while you were ill? I ask because down in that
lonely cavern where I sleep a strange dream came to me one night.
It was of a journey which, as I thought, you and I seemed to make
together, past suns and universes to a very distant earth. It
meant nothing, Humphrey. If you and I chanced to have dreamed the
same thing, it was only because my dream travelled to you. It is
most common, or used to be. Humphrey, Bickley is quite right, I
am not altogether as your women are, and I can bring no happiness
to any man, or at the least, to one who cannot wait. Therefore,
perhaps you would do well to think less of me, as I have
counselled Bastin and Bickley."
Then again she gazed at me with her wonderful, great eyes, and,
shaking her glittering head a little, smiled and went.
But oh! that smile drew my heart after her.
